Heather Potter and the Philosopher's Stone
by Alistair Ruadh
Summary: Heather Potter, orphaned in a car crash and sent off to live with her terrible relatives, is having a couple of very eventful days when a letter arrives that turns her life around.  HP reimagined.  Girl!Harry.


Disclaimer: I state here, I own nothing, all property belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. Nor do I own Doc Martens. I have taken some text directly from the books (for example, the Hogwarts letter). Chapter title is also from the book (With the tweak).

**Heather Potter and the Philosopher's Stone**

Chapter 1: The Girl Who Lived

On a quiet, normal street, in a quiet, normal house, there was a painfully normal family waking up and performing their terribly mundane morning routine. The beefy, large-necked patriarch of the house sat at the table, shouting angrily at his newspaper, which made him very happy, as yelling was his favourite thing to do. His name was Vernon Dursley and he was a manager at Grunnings, a drill production company. His thin necked wife scraped a large pile of eggs onto his plate and smiled happily at him. Petunia Dursley, who looked completely mismatched with her huge husband, was tall and thin, wearing a simple floral dress with a functional apron. Her blonde hair which was cut short to around her mid-neck, framed her long, horsey face. She bent down and scooped up her rather large son, Dudley, and gave him a loud kiss on the cheek as he took a third helping of eggs. His father roared with laughter and Petunia smiled widely, revealing long white teeth.

As Vernon finished reading his morning paper, he put his plate into the sink for his wife to clean while he was away at work. He scooped his son up into a big hug- who promptly gave him a punch, at which he mimed having a broken arm- before heading out onto the terribly plain street, where all the houses looked about the same. This plain, ordinary day was interrupted for Vernon Dursley when he caught the eye of a grey tabby cat. He got the distinct impression, in the moments he was under the cat's stare that the cat knew far more than it should. However, his mind was quickly redirected from the cat and towards his driving, which he enjoyed most when cutting off other motorists. If he hadn't been taking such glee at the frustrations of others, he may have noticed the many people dressed in cloaks and robes on the sides of the roads.

It was shaping up to being a great day for Vernon Dursley. He'd already yelled at a good five people, and it was only lunch hour! He held his calls and leaned back at his desk, placing his absurdly small feet on the desk before him. He chewed his sandwich slowly and savoured every bite. If he weren't so wrapped up in his silent gloating, he may have noticed- as so many of his coworkers did- that there were all sorts of owls flying about in broad daylight. As he packed up and left his office, a man in a strange purple robe approached him, and as Vernon attempted to duck his gaze and waddle past as swiftly as possible, but the man grabbed him in a fierce hug.

Dumbstruck, Vernon blustered, "What in the blazes do you think you're doing, man?" He flushed as purple as a plum, while the shorter man beamed happily at him.

"Why, even muggles like you should rejoice on such an auspicious day! The Dark Lord has fallen!"

Vernon stared in mute shock at the strange, small man hugging him. Remembering himself, he shoved the little man off him and strode away as quickly as possible, his knuckles whitening about the handle of his briefcase. He shimmied into his car, which felt more than a few sizes too small all of a sudden, and sped off down the road, leaving the strange old man behind, trying hard to forget him; however, on his drive home he noticed more and more strangely dressed people, chattering excitedly in the streets. He pulled up on a street corner, and as he waited for the traffic light to change, he strained to listen in on what the strange people were discussing, partly out of a curiosity he'd never confess to having, but also so he could then know what else he could dislike them for.

"-he's definitely gone! Defeated by them, the people he went to kill!" exclaimed one woman with emerald green robes and a pointy black hat.

"Yes! They'll be hailed as heroes for generations to come! At last, it's all over!" replied a stout man in a purple frock coat with a bowler hat far too small for his bald head. The chatter continued for a moment before a grave looking man with a grey beard tucked into his belt approached. _Bloody hell,_ thought Vernon, _does that... That Vagabond have no shame? Or a job?_ The old man greeted the other strangely dressed people.

"We have word." The old bearded man said sadly. "The Potters are dead. The only survivor is their daughter." The collective crowd gasped. The woman in green robes burst into tears, and blew her nose on her sleeve. Vernon shuddered, and amid the honking of the drivers behind him, turned the corner and continued home. On the wall outside his neighbourhood, the same grey tabby cat eyed him as he drove past, but his mind was firmly fixated on something else all together.

Petunia's sister- the one they didn't talk about. The one who was weird and abnormal, the freak.

She'd married someone named Potter- another freak- just like her.

But a thought flooded his mind and he breathed a sigh of relief. They had a son, he was sure of it, they had a son! Not a daughter! He returned home and enjoyed a normal evening, with his normal family, in his normal house, on his normal street. He gave no further thought to strangely dressed people, or odd tabby cats, or anything else out of the ordinary.

Out on his street however, something not entirely ordinary was occurring. A stern looking woman was seated upon the wall at the bottom of Privet Drive, swinging her feet casually as the wind picked at her dark green dress. It had been a while since she'd been able to let her hair down like this. A smile spread across her face at the thought, since she had not in fact, let her hair down at all. She adjusted her hat and continued to sit, watching the things around her, feeling the peace and quiet that came with finding the right moment to sit quietly and think. Minerva McGonagall had lost many friends in this war, more than she felt she should have; and to have it end up with the Potters being the last sacrifice... The grief had not yet entirely sunk in. She'd never again be a victim of James' practical jokes, or see Lily swat him for a stray comment. She forced the grief away for the moment; she refused to be seen in public blubbering like some broken-hearted schoolgirl.

Her thoughts turned back to a thought which had only really just solidified in her mind: what will she do with the rest of her life? _Sure,_ she thought, _I may- how is it the muggles put it?- get run over by a lorry in the morning, but for the moment, I have a life to live..._ Her stern expression once again dissolved into a face full of emotion, this time a giddy happiness. She felt altogether too mixed up for the moment, and instead opted to just sit and breathe. During the war she could sometimes lapse into these meditative states for hours, but tonight she had particular problems settling into a rhythmic breathing pattern. Eventually she just gave up in frustration. Kicking her heels against the stone wall, she pushed herself off and shifted into her animagus form, the cat lithely landing and trotting up the street. Why had Albus so urgently warned her to get here and watch over Lily's muggle relatives? Was he expecting a Death Eater attack on the family in retribution?

Hours passed as Minerva agonized back and forth up and down the street. She watched families turn off their tellies and shut their curtains. Lights went off first in children's bedrooms, and then in parents' bedrooms. She watched with particular interest as the Dursleys went about their evening routine, which seemed to be comprised mostly of trying to force their rotund toddler to go to bed at eight, and then not actually putting him to bed until eleven. She focused on the clock which could barely be seen from the window sill and saw it was nearly time for Albus to arrive. She went back into the street and resumed her position on the wall at the base of the street. Mrs. Figg eventually came out and offered Minerva a bowl of tuna, which Minerva playing her cat role, graciously accepted. Not long after the squib left, the lights in the street began to disappear one by one.

Albus Dumbledore strolled into view, waving his deluminator over his head and making the street as private as he could make it. He paused as he caught sight of the well-kept cat, seemingly watching him from behind furry spectacles. Minerva stepped off the wall and transformed as she landed on the ground, nodding gravely at him.

"Albus." She greeted curtly with a nod of her head.

"Ah, Minerva, I could tell it was you." Albus intoned with a small smile behind his white beard. Minerva sighed and her shoulders tensed in mild frustration.

"How could you have possibly known?" she demanded.

"No cat sits as rigidly as you do, my dear." Albus replied breezily, the smile only widening across his face. He turned and observed the end of the street expectantly, effectively ending that conversation. After a few minutes of silence, Minerva moved to speak.

"Is it true, Albus? Are they really gone?"

"Yes, my dear Minerva, I'm afraid James and Lily are dead..." Albus sighed wistfully. "They have left behind their young daughter." Minerva gasped, she'd not realized that the child still lived. She'd only vaguely been aware of the birth of a daughter and the Potters went into hiding so quickly afterwards that she'd never met the baby.

"Are you really intending on leaving her with these people? They're the worst sort of muggles, Albus, I've been watching them all day long!" Her rant was only beginning, but the wizened man cut her off.

"They're her only family now, Minerva." He cast a dangerous look in her direction. She got the impression that this was the end of their discussion and knew there was no way she'd be able to talk him out of this course of action. As foolish as it was. A few more minutes of silence passed between deputy and headmaster before a roaring in the distance flared up. Minerva drew her wand, but Albus smiled and stepped out of the street as a motorbike came crashing down onto the pavement carrying a very large, very hairy man. Minerva put her wand away, but didn't hide her displeasure at who had been sent to retrieve the baby.

"Good evening, Hagrid." Albus greeted, spreading his arms in welcome like he did at the Welcoming Feast.

Hagrid stood up off the motorbike and heaved a sigh, as he reached into his coat and withdrew a small bundle. Minerva drew a bit closer to look at the only legacy of two of the brightest students she'd ever had. Hazel eyes stared up at her from under unruly red hair before looking away; the baby was paying close attention to what was going on around her. Minerva smiled softly, allowing the baby a rare expression of kindness. The baby giggled and reached towards her, but Hagrid bundled her up tighter. Minerva's breath hitched slightly as the baby pouted at him; she saw the familiar twinkle of James' eyes in the girl's.

"I trust she was no trouble on the ride over, Hagrid?" Albus asked, gently taking the baby from Hagrid's arms. Hagrid frowned at her removal, but brightened considerably on recounting the tale of his travels.

"L'il girl gave me a good run fer' me money a few times." Hagrid rumbled with a smile. "Li'l tyke wouldn't stop crawling from pocket to pocket in me coat as we were riding. Ol' Sirius Black is the one who lent me that bike. Met me at the house, an' he looked like death 'imself , but 'e gave me 'is bike and took off without another word."

Albus turned and walked slowly up the driveway with Minerva and Hagrid solemnly in tow. He came to a stop at the door mat and stooped, placing the baby down on the porch, moonlight illuminating the fresh lightning scar emblazoned on her small forehead.

Minerva reached into her pocket and pulled out the letter she'd prepared and handed it to Albus, who rested it on the small, wiggling parcel. The baby giggled and began to chew on the edge of the parchment. The elegant script on the envelope, written in emerald green letters read:

_Mr. And Mrs. Dursley_

_4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging_

_The Second Largest bedroom_

"Can we really do this, Albus?" Minerva burst out, unable to contain her anxieties for this girl any longer. "Can we really leave her here, with people who know nothing of our world? Or even what she's done and what they owe her?" She pursed her lips and looked down at the baby with concern. She knew this was wrong, something in her heart was screaming to take the child herself, Albus be damned; but she knew better than to contradict him.

"I think it would be best that she grow up with her family, without the pressures she would endure in our world. May she learn the ways of their world before coming to ours." He turned and looked down at the baby once more. When he continued, he was clearly addressing the baby. "We'll be seeing you soon. Good luck, Miss Heather Potter."

He turned and disapparated, leaving Hagrid and Minerva behind. Hagrid smiled weakly at her and turned, setting himself back down on the motorbike and flew off without another word. Minerva turned to the street and took a step, but hesitated. Drawing her wand once more, she bent and picked up a rock with a hole in the centre of it. Her eyes widened; such rocks were known to be very compatible with magic and as such, very rare. She thought for a moment, listening to the sound of the breeze between the houses and took in the normalcy of the neighbourhood, the sheer force that the area exuded on people to conform to this muggle ideal of normalcy. Thinking for a moment, she smiled and held the rock in hand. She passed her wand over it three times and the rock twisted and bent, forming a small, female knight on horseback. The stone knight settled into it's final form, crimson hair flowing from beneath the helmet, a lance thrust out before her. Minerva smiled warmly, and placed it back down in the garden. She waved her wand and cast the strongest concealment spell she knew. The spell would ensure that only Heather would be able to even see, let alone retrieve it.

She cast a glance back at the settling baby on the doorstep and whispered into the night, "Good luck, Heather Potter."

Dudley Dursley wasn't enjoying his afternoon as much as he thought he should be. There were small children all around him, nervously peering down at him. He focused on the sky above him and wondered what exactly had just happened. It all began so easily- he had just been taking the ice lolly out of some kid's mouth, his friends Pierce and Gordon jeering at the boy, trying to make him cry, when a voice had called out from behind them.

_Oh no. Not her! _He sat up slowly, feeling the blood drip down his lip. Standing a short distance away was none other than his arch nemesis, her thatch of unruly red hair blowing in the wind like some sort of hero. How he loathed her. She peered down her nose at him and he felt the indignation rise up in him: _**He's older than her! He should be able to beat her! He gets away with it at home, he can do it here, now!**_

Not even five feet away from Dudley stood a red haired girl, with a baggy worn-out army jacket  
>covering a yellow sun dress, which flapped around her knees in the breeze. On her feet, rising up almost all the way to her knees were somewhat over-sized black boots. Her hazel eyes sparked with barely withheld rage, her fists clenching and her boots digging into the sand under her feet.<p>

"Dudley Dursley, this is it, the absolute last straw!" She stamped her foot, kicking up a cloud of dust. Piers and Gordon backed away slowly, shocked. Dudley clambered to his feet, his fat wobbling as he rose. His blond hair dishevelled across his head, his feet shaky under him for a few moments. He angrily blinked back a few tears and waddled across the gap between them, raising a fist and throwing a weak excuse for a punch as he went. She stepped back out of the way of his lumbering frame and kicked his shin as he went barreling past her. Squealing in pain, he fell back to the ground, tears now streaming freely down his face.

"What's wrong, _Duddykins_, no Daddy here to keep you safe?" the girl taunted, letting loose some of the anger stored up over the ten years she'd been with the Dursleys. Half the kids on the playground snickered while the other half stared in awe: no one had ever stood up to Dudley like this before.

"Heather, I'll tell on you!" Dudley roared, something which had always kept the- suddenly taller -girl in line before. "I'll tell Dad and he'll lock you in your cupboard for weeks!" He grinned, showing his bloodied teeth. He had her, he was sure of it. The truth was as ugly as his piggish face.

"You'll tell Uncle Vernon?" Heather paused momentarily: his statement instilled a moment of familiar terror. She would be locked in her room for months maybe, if not the rest of her life if he told. She thought quickly, a mad mental scramble when a thought struck like the shape of her scar.

"You'd tell Uncle Vernon that you got beat up by _a girl_?" she demanded, the plan unfolding in her mind. Not only would this keep the fight going, but also make sure he kept his silence. As she expected, Dudley came up swinging again. She wasn't quite fast enough to dodge, though, and a punch clipped her shoulder. She staggered backwards, grabbing where he'd hit her. It wasn't anything worse than she had at the hands of him or his father, but it stung like crazy.

She retaliated with another blow to the only place on her cousin's body not covered by three inches of flab. As her fist connected, Dudley's eyes crossed and he fell down. The sun glinted off her steel-toed boots menacingly as he dropped to his knees, sweat mixing with his tears and snot as his brain seemed to struggle to reset itself. She stood triumphantly over him, glaring down at her enemy, the boy who had made her life painful and at times completely disgusting for as long as she could remember. She remembered all the days he'd punched her in the face and then cried himself; all the meals she had missed because of his cruelty. Tears welled up in her eyes, looking down at the person she knew as a brother and yet her biggest tormentor in Surrey. It felt like a burden was lifting off her chest: she'd beaten him. She'd beaten the unbeatable.

She stepped back and raised her fist; Dudley focusing slowly and painfully on her. Her face was a mask of utter calm. An odd energy seemed to crackle around her as she tensed up to hit him. She gave a yell as she threw the final blow. Dudley crumpled beneath it, kicking up sand clouds under him as he landed. Gordon and Piers rushed over and grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him up. A cheer went up around the playground, a rousing round of applause given to the playground hero as the fat menace was pulled out of the area. Heather grinned; she knew he wouldn't tell. His father would disown him even as he installed the padlock on her cupboard. Things were looking up for her now, she could go to stupid Stonewall High next year without _Duddykins_ trailing her and causing problems.

Hell, maybe she could make a friend. She'd never really had one before.

Waving to her fans and supporters, Heather left the park with a broad smile plastered on her face. The twinge in her shoulder becoming a dull, burning ache as she walked. She was two streets down and one street west by the time the adrenaline rush caught up with her. Her knees suddenly becoming shaky, she braced herself against a street light. She giggled nervously and sank to her knees, slowly breathing in and out.

"What a rush, wow..." Heather spoke aloud, the same goofy grin spreading across her face. She felt the trembling in her body slow down as the oxygen entered her body. Leaning into the road slightly, she looked at her face in a nearby puddle; she needed to make sure that Dudley hadn't hit her, visibly, in case Petunia mentioned it while she was making dinner. In the puddle, a thin girl of ten stared back at her, hazel eyes set in a pale, freckled face. That loathed scar sitting prominently on her forehead.

She sighed and hauled herself back to her feet. _Up and at 'em, Potter, no dawdling._ She clicked her heels together, shaking any remaining sand off her boots to further solidify her alibi, should it come up. It wouldn't matter in the long run, she thought blandly, if Dudley said she attacked him with laser beams, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would undoubtedly come down on her as strictly as they possibly could.

She'd been so sure during the fight that Dudley wouldn't talk, but now she was having doubts. _Pull it together, Potter, _she mentally berated herself _what happens happens. If Dudley tells, he's still lost face in front of the park kids, and maybe more people will stand up to him..._

As she pondered her recently discovered martyrdom- her possible martyrdom- she walked ever closer towards number 4 Privet Drive. The sun was slowly setting in the west as she opened the door to the house. She could hear her aunt frantically cooing over a whimpering Dudley in the kitchen. She tiptoed as quietly as one can in steel toed boots when her uncle came roaring out of the kitchen.

"Potter!" He bellowed, his face an incandescent purple. "You're **late** to making our dinner, you ungrateful child!" He thundered, his fists balled up in rage. Heather blinked, her gambit had worked, Dudley hadn't said a word!

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." She stated as obediently as possible, trying hard to mask any glee she might be feeling at her string of good luck. She rushed into the small, immaculate kitchen, forgetting to remove her boots and receiving a clip to her ear for it. She bent over and began unlacing her booted foot when Dudley sauntered past. He swung his hip as he walked by, sending Heather head-first into the wall. She glared daggers at him as he walked up the stairs, proudly holding his head high despite the two black eyes. Uncle Vernon was mid-rant, quickly building up a head of steam, when she finally walked into the kitchen.

"-bloody stupid ingrates on that playground, don't know who they're dealing with! My son! Beaten up in broad daylight and no one can be identified as the culprit?" he continued to rant and rage impotently long into dinner. For the first time she could remember, Heather was glad that the Dursleys didn't pay attention to her, as they may have noticed her swollen knuckles- which stung abominably- from the thorough beating she'd laid on Dudley.

Once excused, Heather returned to her cupboard and slipped inside, pulling the light on and shoving her Docs under the bed. Hanging across the rod that spanned her cupboard, above her pillow at the tall end of the small space, were her clothes. On what could only be described kindly as a headboard, was Heather's prized possession, a small female knight. Few things in the cupboard mattered as much to her as this small figurine, and she couldn't explain why. She'd kept it hidden from Dudley for years now, having seen how quickly he tore through toys. It would only take him sitting down in the wrong place once and it would be destroyed in seconds. She collapsed onto her bed and hugged her pillow tightly and smiled at the knight.

"I did it, I beat him today." She whispered excitedly, feeling better than she could recall at this moment. She could vaguely hear from the living room, Dudley once again recounting how an older boy had tried to take over Dudley's turf on the play ground, and how he'd defended it, and if they thought he looked bad they should see what the other boy looked like. Aunt Petunia wailed over how brave her little Duddykins was, and then the enormous lummox sat down to watch the telly. Heather sighed, pulling on her light string and bidding her knight good night.

Morning was the typical affair in the Dursley household. Aunt Petunia came downstairs, waking Heather up gently before demanding that she make breakfast. Heather groggily inched out of her cupboard and yawned, scratching her head, causing her already unruly red hair to grow in size. She entered the kitchen and eyed the pile of presents that Dudley was getting today. _Of course, I gave him my present yesterday, _Heather thought to herself with a small smile. If Aunt Petunia noticed, she didn't say anything. Heather laid the bacon in the frying pan, adjusting the heat accordingly, savouring the quiet moment she had alone with her Aunt.

Heather had long since realized that the occasional moments of kindness that her aunt demonstrated privately were not due to Aunt Petunia actually liking Heather; rather, that Heather looked so much like her mother. Anonymous gifts had been turning up in Heather's cupboard since her earliest memories. Often feminine clothing, or at least clothes that she could actually wear. She shuddered at the thought of having only Dudley's huge, secondhand clothing to wear all the time.

She snapped out of her reverie as the pounding from the upstairs hallway began. Dudley was on his way down and from the sounds of it, he was trying to make as much noise as possible. Pretending not to notice, Heather brought the teapot over to her Aunt, who was reading the fashion section in the paper. Pouring a cup, Heather watched and listened in resigned amazement as Dudley came bouncing down the stairs, stopping over where her head would be and jumping on that step repeatedly.

"Come on, girl, it's my birthday! Get up, get up!" The shiners she'd given him obviously hadn't truly taught him anything, as he finally came fully down the stairs and began kicking her door. She turned her back on her Aunt and grinned at her cousin's stupidity. She dished out some of the bacon and began cooking the eggs, her stomach growling uncomfortably. Like clockwork she put Vernon's coffee on and poured him a mug as he was coming down the stairs. Pleased enough with this display of efficiency, Vernon glared at her but said nothing. They were soon watching Dudley open his massive mound of presents. Heather felt a pang of sadness as she took in the sight. She may have shown him, and she may feel a little freer than she had before, but it didn't mean that her station in the household had actually changed.

Soon enough, Piers Polkiss had arrived, ready to enjoy whatever adventure they were going to go on for Dudley's birthday. Heather removed the plates from the table, jerking slightly towards Piers, who shuddered a little and backed away.

"Mummy, I want to go to the zoo!" Dudley exclaimed suddenly.

"But Duddykins, dearest, I thought you wanted to go to the theatre?" Petunia asked worriedly. Dudley looked liable to throw a tantrum at any moment.

"Well now I want to go to the Zoo!" Screamed the obese boy, balling his fists and summoning some crocodile tears through his black eyes. Petunia gave in quickly and the annual discussion of what to do with Heather began.

"Petunia, dear, couldn't we have Yvonne over to watch the girl?" Vernon rumbled, taking a long sip of his coffee and burping loudly.

"Oh no, she's off in Majorca this time of year sweetie, you know that. Can't Mrs. Figg?"

"No, Petunia, she tripped over one of her cats and broke her leg, she couldn't possibly look after the girl."

Tired of being talked about as though she wasn't there, Heather spoke up, surprising even herself.

"Why don't I go ask Mrs. Figg if it would be alright if I helped out around her house? I'm sure she'd appreciate the help if we offered," She stated her case as calmly as possible, because the alternative was dire. If she was forced to go with Dudley and Piers, they'd be in the unique position of being with her Aunt and Uncle while simultaneously being in public. She'd have no way to fight back if they tried anything. Fearing her case was flimsy, she continued hurriedly "and I wouldn't want to ruin Dudley's birthday." Another solid argument constructed on the back of the last.

"I suppose if you go and ask... If she says yes then you're her burden for the day." Vernon mused, a twinkle in his eye. Heather had lost count of the number of times something strange had happened, particularly when Dudley was tormenting her, and she'd been the one to take the blame. The unfortunate pattern often led to events that were "special" for Dudley. For example, last year the movie they went to see for his birthday had been cancelled at the last minute, because the film had completely disappeared. People everyone remembered the the film existed, the actors swore they'd done it, but no physical copy of the movie could be found. Heather has been locked in her closet for three weeks before Vernon finally confessed that maybe it was a little large of a prank for her to have pulled off by herself.

"Alright, go ask." By the time he finished the sentence she had already disappeared around the corner and was running up the stairs. She quickly went upstairs and brushed her hair, (_As usual, a useless effort... _She thought), brushed her teeth and washed up before throwing her jacket on and slipping on a pair of trousers under her dress. She almost jumped into her boots before she strode out into the bright morning sunlight, intent on avoiding the Dursleys for the rest of the day. Heather crossed the small green garden and onto the parched yellow lawn of their strange old neighbour, Mrs. Figg. Heather was no real fan of her, but any place that wasn't 4 Privet Drive was good refuge. She knocked on the mahogany door and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

She was about to give up and scurry off to the park for the day- preparing to lie if questioned, and claim that Mrs. Figg had put her to work immediately- when the door opened. Mrs. Figg was a stooping old woman who always smelled faintly of cat pee, as did her whole house. The fact that the house seemed unnaturally dark most of the time didn't really help. She peered at Heather for a long moment before shifting her weight more solidly onto a crutch.

"Yes dear, what is it?" she asked in her nasal voice. She smiled widely, revealing yellowed teeth.

"My Uncle said you broke your leg, Mrs. Figg, and I was wondering if you could use some help around the house, Mrs. Figg, because it's Dudley's birthday today you see, and I'd be terribly happy to put my time to good use and help you with anything you could need, Mrs. Figg." Heather hurried, forcing as many words as she could from one breath, all the while glancing towards the Dursleys' house worriedly.

Mrs. Figg eyed her for another long moment, before grinning an odd sort of grin.

"Word is that you laid out that rotten boy you live with yesterday, good show girl." she stated, her voice suddenly far less nasal than usual. _Actually, nothing she just said sounded like her usual self._ Heather smiled hesitantly, and resorted to an expression she often heard Uncle Vernon use when discussing company policies at dinner.

"Loose lips sink ships, Mrs. Figg."

"Ah, yes of course my dear girl, come in, come in. I have something for you anyway." she turned and limped back into the house. Heather pulled a face at the sudden smell but, relieved, unlaced her boots and followed her neighbour into the dim house. The telly was on, playing another one of Mrs. Figg's horrible black-and-white romances, but Mrs. Figg by-passed that room, led her to the kitchen and sat her down.

"Now, Miss Potter, I need you to do some tidying up around the kitchen for me. Throw out the old food and wash the plates, that's the ticket, dear. Once that's done, you can brew us a nice cuppa and we can have a talk that I've been meaning to have with you for a while now." Mrs. Figg grinned her yellow Cheshire cat grin again and gestured at the kitchen. Heather was actually rather surprised, Mrs. Figg had never behaved this way before. She supposed it could be the pain medication she was surely on for her leg, but at this point it was impossible to tell.

Heather set to work, opting to first dispose of the food rotting in the refrigerator, using a pair of tongs to grab and drop it into a garbage bag. Finishing the first bag with a carton of spoiled eggs, she dragged the bag out onto the street corner, looking up in time to see the Dursleys pulling out of the driveway and taking off, undoubtedly with a giggling Dudley and a smirking Piers seated in the back seat. Heather sighed: life wasn't fair, it was a fact she was used to.

As she continued cleaning the kitchen, Mrs. Figg would occasionally call her attention to the telly, where a daring detective would sacrifice himself to save the woman he loved, or a mobster was betrayed by his right-hand man. The only thing she put on that intrigued Heather in the slightest was about a man who'd arrived in a city (she wasn't sure which) during World War II and had to decided whether to help his old love escape from the city with her new lover or to sell them out to the Nazis. She tried to remain as low-key as possible in her enjoyment of the movie, but she did gasp at a few points. Soon enough the kitchen was about as clean as it was going to get and Mrs. Figg called her back over to the table. From beneath a stack of mail, she withdrew a small brown envelope. She flipped it over in her hands a few times, smiling wistfully at the letter.

"This is yours. You should open it and read it while I go make a call, there's someone I think you should meet." Mrs. Figg placed the letter down on the table before Heather and laboured to get up. Once she had struggled to her feet, she hobbled out of the room, leaning on her crutch. Heather pulled the letter closer to her and she gave the address a long look.

_Mrs. Heather Dorea Potter_

_4 Privet Drive_

_The Cupboard Under the Stairs,_

_Little Whinging, Surrey._

She blinked and read it over again a few times, not quite sure she believed what she was reading. This was the strangest thing she'd ever read. Cautiously she turned the envelope over and peered at a seal in the wax on the back, a large H emblazoned on a shield. Carefully she opened the envelope and began to read.

_Dear Miss Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31._

_Yours sincerely,_  
><em>Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress<em>

Heather blinked. This had to be a joke, there was no way this was real. Magic couldn't be real, could it? She sat and pondered long and hard. Behind her, a formidable looking woman stepped into the room, Heather turned, still holding the letter and fixed a silent stare on the tall woman before her. She wore a dark green dress and had a red tartan shawl around her shoulders. Her hat was black and pointy, rather like a witches' hat would be, but this was just ridiculous. Heather thought quickly, perhaps the Dursleys were playing some cruel joke on her. Maybe Dudley did tell them what she'd done to him, and this was their idea of revenge.

"Hello, Miss Potter. I am Professor McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I rather imagine you have some questions." The woman, who claimed to have written her this letter, smiled tightly at her. Heather blinked. She felt like she could trust this woman for some reason, but she really couldn't be sure. Mrs. Figg limped back into the room at that moment, the small kitchen suddenly tiny in Heather's mind as the domineering presence of Professor McGonagall seemed to overshadow everything else. As if she were more real... Heather opened her mouth and gathered her courage and wits about her.

"Sure, my first question is..." She thought hard, if this was a joke, there was no point in asking anything about the school. Surely the best course of action- the only course, even- would be...

"This is some kind of joke, isn't it?"

*** Well guys, lemme know what you think, I have chapter 2 under way as we speak.

I would like to thank Eireann, my beta, for painstakingly going over this with me a few times until the wee hours of the morning.

Read/review/etc.


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